Nothing But Trouble (Malibu University Series)(83)

That’s when I’m certain I still have a heart because if I didn’t, I wouldn’t be experiencing an explosion of pain in the middle of my chest.

Hair longer, messy, streaked in gold. Scruff covering the bottom of his face. Eyes glowing in contrast to his tan. He really needs to learn how to use sunscreen.

“Reagan.” My voice is a broken whisper, my chest burning with all the unspoken sentiments I’ve kept to myself in his absence.

His head snaps up and his gaze finds me standing a few feet away. Shock registers on his face as obviously as it’s on mine.

The Jeep pulls up. The valet jumps out, walks over, and hands me the keys. Absently, I take them. I can’t even acknowledge him because I’m lost in bottomless green eyes, no less stunning than the first time I saw them.

“Yo, sir?” the cab driver calls out.

Snapping out of his trance, Reagan grabs his duffel bag and shuts the door. The cab takes off, and its just the two of us and the ghost of our past.

His face softens as his gaze traces each and every one of my features. He runs a hand though his hair and exhales loudly, nostrils flaring, jaw clenched tightly.

“I was hoping you were still here.” His voice falters. When I don’t respond, concern fills his eyes. “Alice?”

I nod. It’s all I can do. With so much emotion clogging my throat it feels like I’m going into anaphylactic shock, everything closing up.

“Can we talk?” he asks softly, taking two very tentative steps closer. “I know I’m asking a lot but I…I have a lot I need to tell you, to explain.”

As tempted as I am to put him out of his misery, I can’t. I’ve spent months in hell, wondering where he was, if he was happy and healthy. Who he was with. As much as I love him, I need to start thinking of myself.

“Can we?” he repeats.

I nod. “Zoe…” I start, motioning to the door. “She has a room here. We can use it.” It feels like I’m having an out-of-body experience. I’ve wanted this for so long and now that he’s here I feel unprepared to handle it.

He takes another step closer and I turn for the front door of the hotel. I’m not strong enough to fend him off. If he touches me, I’ll surrender faster than you can spell no self-respect. On the way, I hand the valet the keys again.

Back inside the party room, I push through the drunken masses and find Zoe who’s jumping up and down on the dance floor and bumping hips with Blake and Dora.

Her eyes widen when she sees me. “You’re baaaack. Al!! Don’t leave us. C’mon dance.”

I pull her face closer, bring her ear to my mouth. “Don’t repeat it out loud, but Reagan’s here. Can I use your room?”

Her mood sobers at once. She stops dancing. Her eyes narrow into two vicious slits. Leaning in, she says, “You better make that motherfucker pay.”

“First, I’d like to hear what he has to say.”

“Okay. I’ll make that motherfucker pay.”

I send her a warning glare. “Zoe…”

“Fine, ugh, you’re no fun. Room 1814.” She hands me the key card out of the micro Celine purse and when I turn to leave she stops me. Her usually jaded eyes soften and her flawless features pinch in concern.

“I know,” I tell her before she can get a word out. She’s a good one. As loyal as they come. All that ferocious confidence put to good use in my defense. “I’ll be fine.”

I find Reagan hovering by the elevators, one hand gripping the back of his neck, head tipped forward, nervous energy all about him. He doesn’t see me approach.

I take notice of the fine cut of his suit, the crispness of his stark white shirt. He’s so handsome it hurts to look at him. His fine features––so familiar. And yet simultaneously, distance and time have made him unapproachable.

His head comes up when he hears me. His face relaxes. “I thought you were going to bail on me,” he murmurs while I walk up and press the elevator call button.

“I don’t bail. I thought you knew that about me.”

His shoulders slump, his expression distressed. “I know. I know. You’re right. You never have.”

I’m not trying to hurt him, just stating a fact. “Your friends are in there.” I hook a thumb at the room I came out of. “I didn’t tell them you’re here, but I know they’re dying to see you.”

“I’m not here for them––” When he goes to speak again, the elevator door opens and people pour out. We step inside and three others join us.

“Eighteen, please,” I instruct the guy standing closest to the panel. Reagan slides next to me. The wool of his suit brushes my bare arm, sending shivers up my back and my stomach somersaulting.

I’ve been anticipating this moment for four months, imagining the things I’d say, dreaming about touching him. And now that he’s here, I’m speechless, at a total loss as to how to begin articulating what I’m feeling.

At floor eighteen, we silently file out. I open the door and walk to the wall of windows that overlooks the shoreline from the Santa Monica Pier to Malibu, a Christmas tree of lights snaking up the coast.

“I missed you,” he says.

“You have a funny way of showing it.”

The AC clicks on and a cold blast of air hits me. I’m shaking and I’m not sure it’s because of the chill. Sliding off his suit jacket, he goes to the thermostat and turns the AC off, then he meets me at the wall of windows and slips his jacket over my shoulders.